


Come Clean, Dark Thing

by sidusmane



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, BDSM themes, Feelings, I know it was only a cut on his cheek but I want it as ugly and big as it can be, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, So. Many. Feelings., Will's UGLY AND HUGE face scar, and, and for future chapters, eventually turning into sexually everything. I think., okay here we go, self-harm mention, very briefly but still there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24295180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidusmane/pseuds/sidusmane
Summary: The way back to each other.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Come Clean, Dark Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I became hyperfixated with the psychological aspects of BDSM and had the urge to write non-sexual BDSM turning into sexual BDSM because TRUST AND VULNERABILITY IS SO SEXY! But alas, I ended up with 6k words of feelings before actually getting to that. First chapter is feelings and miscommunication.
> 
> WARNING: There's a bit at the end of the first chapter involving a sexual act and crying that could be interpreted as dub-con/non-con. It wasn't written as such but it still could be triggering. Be safe please. Tags will be updated as I upload new stuff so keep an eye for that.
> 
> Any mistakes are entirely my own (due to my rush to post this as a birthday gift to myself lmao)

Will was going to consider the evening a victory  _ except _ his hands wouldn’t stop  _ shaking _ .

It was unquestionable that the  _ unnervingly _ poised and controlled creature seated in front of him would take notice and categorize the sight as something Will wasn’t comfortable with because he wasn’t comfortable with  _ anything _ . The mere idea of being a  _ person _ that had to be seen by everyone else was appalling and  _ impossible _ . Descending further down that spiral Will also had to panic further about how he couldn’t entirely control what other people thought about him, the outcomes of his interactions and the impact he had on everyone else, which infuriated him to no end.

He knew what he was inside, knew what made him tick but could never entirely predict if other people perceived him for what he really was when he only had a job due to his ability to see people for what they really were.

Revolting.

But then again he was  _ disgusted _ by eye contact and most kinds of social interactions. No matter how badly the yearning to be  _ seen _ clawed at his insides, the very notion of  _ allowing _ himself to do just that was unbearable. How dare people just simply let each other inside their heads to probe and pry like that? It wasn’t —

“Will,” gently spoken in a husky voice, barely a whisper. “Is something bothering you?”

Will had fallen quiet during a session, again, and he didn’t like the tone the doctor used with him, almost like he was trying to avoid  _ startling _ him.

“I’m sorry, it’s- it’s the case. I’ve been feeling all over the place lately and Jack’s been infuriatingly bothersome to deal with.” Will said, already clearly overwhelmed just by thinking about it.

Hannibal quietly hummed in his seat, considering what the next step should be. For a man who delighted in collecting church collapses the trembling pool of chaos was a  _ godsend _ gift wrapped with brown shiny curls. He'd smelled his fear and panic when he opened the door to let him inside and was barely able to control an appreciative noise from spoiling his clinical, politely detached facade.   
  


“Would you like to talk about something else instead? You seem particularly distressed with this case.” A pause, also an opening to objection. “Or if you want we could try getting to what precisely is making you feel so ungrounded about this killer of yours.”

Will looked away, uncomfortable and unwilling to choose neither of the options. He was tired after an entire day on the field and he still had to rush back to make it in time for his appointment lest he had to endure Jack barking all day again at him. He wanted just a moment alone to gather and process his thoughts but no one would leave him be, like he constantly needed a babysitter.

And to make matters worse he was forcing himself to look the least  _ presentable _ to his  _ psychiatrist _ because he broke his own record of how long before he wanted to try to  _ appease _ the first person who looked at him like he wasn’t just a mad dog on the brink of a major coronary accident.   
  


He desperately wanted a drink.

After a long exasperated sigh and what felt like a small eternity, Will was brought back to the room when he heard Hannibal rise from his seat, heading to the liquor cabinet. He couldn’t believe how parched he was until the doctor handed him a glass of brandy, returning to his seat shortly after. Will soon felt the slight tingle of alcohol in his bloodstream and with it a sudden wave of relaxation.

“I don’t think this is exactly professional, doctor.” Will said, with a slight chuckle that didn’t go unnoticed by Hannibal. In turn, he smiles behind his own glass of wine.

“I admit being susceptible to using unorthodox methods, from time to time, especially if I believe it could be beneficial to my patients." 

"In what way does offering me alcohol during a session could be beneficial,  _ doctor _ ?"

Easily irritable, annoyed, on the brink of rudeness. Hannibal knew of the challenges Will presented as a patient, he also knew were this anyone else he'd have become a fine meal on his table, but Will wasn’t just anyone; the intrinsic paradox that was his very essence and all the ways he’d proven himself interesting were far too tempting to not see through all of its potential.

“For a mind so keen and sharp in translating evidence into motive, I sense some difficulty in translating your emotions and thinking into words” Hannibal began, eyes attentive to the reactions his words caused. “Just now, for example. You retreated to the inside of your mind instead of vocalizing your thoughts.”

“I process and deal with everything I see  _ inside _ , there’s hardly need to  _ vocalize _ what I’m thinking.” Will replied, curt and brisk.

“One could argue that not vocalizing could be what makes the barriers of your mind so prone to flooding.”

That made Will rise from his seat, and the fact that he stepped further away from Hannibal was clearly noted. The doctor hummed to himself before raising his glass for another sip, eyes distantly looking at the floor. When Will remained quiet, he proceeded.

“I understand there’s a certain level of cautiousness and restraint in the way you carry yourself. I imagine you don’t go around spilling everything inside your head to people in fear of scaring them away. I want to assure you I’m not easily scared.”

Hannibal noticed the nervous fiddling with the glass when he returned his gaze to Will, the liquid inside barely touched. The annoyance previously ruining his features was replaced 

  
  


by something else Hannibal couldn’t quite point. He saw the way Will’s back muscles were taut in tension, jaw strained and lips pursed and yet there was something else on his face.

“It’s not fear,” Will replies low and strained. “It’s about trust.”

Ah.

Vulnerability.

Will was clearly fighting between hanging on or letting go and Hannibal didn’t know what he wanted to see more.

“Hard to trust when all you deal with is the criminal. Even harder to let people inside when everything you see touches the rest of your mind.”

The doctor watched as Will’s expressions slowly grew softer as he sipped from the glass, eyes still looking away but in a calmer demeanor.

“You can trust me to be an anchor when you find yourself afloat and lost. But only if you let me.”

* * *

It takes them 18 insufferable hours to drive to their final destination once they disembark in Argentina, just before the sunrise. The entire drive Will barely looks at Hannibal, content for the moment to let the other be completely in charge for their safe arrival at the intended place, content to play the part of the resigned survivor.

Freedom doesn't taste quite as good as Will thought it would.

The safe house Hannibal provides for them both after the Dragon still manages to be absurdly above Will's previous standards. It makes Will wonder how wealthy Hannibal truly is; a thought he doesn't give much energy to. The cottage is luxurious, as Will predicted it would be, and once finally out of the car he can't help but stare at the gorgeous view of the lake that serves as the background scenery.

It makes him sick of how much it reminded him of his and Holly’s place, of the place he used to call home.

He feels Hannibal gazing just intently at him but doesn't find in himself to confront or inquire, and wonders what the criteria was for this purchase: a spacious, cozy residence away from big cities and annoying people, with more than space than the two would never be able to fully occupy, with access both to the lake which undoubtedly served as a fishing spot and surrounding forest. Luxurious yet private.

It's something Will would definitely choose for himself. 

For Abigail.

For the three of them.

The thought that Hannibal would take the time and effort to look for and purchase real estate that would please Will and Abigail makes his stomach churn with a bitterness he’d thought long lost and dead. Not so lost and dead then.

He can feel the tiredness rattle his bones as he walks towards the entrance of the house and refuses to overthink about the stupid house and Hannibal’s questionable choices in secret properties, refuses to think how opulent everything is and how it overwhelms him. Once inside the living room, his eyes wander for a moment, taking everything in before stopping at the bar. Obviously stacked. Will doesn’t think twice and before he can stop he catches himself eagerly pouring whiskey into a glass.

Hannibal follows carefully behind, moving as if waiting for Will’s cue first.

“For how long do you intend to keep on watching me? It’s becoming unnerving.” Will says, not bothering to hide the annoyed tone.

“Long enough to gauge what my next action should be.” Hannibal replies, tone light and casual in contrast. Despite being behind the wheel for the past 8 hours, Will watches how gracefully and unworried he moves to open all of the curtains, exposing the magnificent view from the living room windows. He moves next to the dining room where he deposits his handbag onto one of the chairs, turning on the lights before disappearing further inside the house, leaving Will alone with his drink.

Will lets out an exasperated sigh, taking the moment to deposit his glass onto the table in front of him. He lets his hands run free on his face, as if the motion could make all the tension and exhaustion disappear from his body. 

A couple of moments later when Will is practically done with his drink, almost dozing off on the nice couch he finds himself slouched on, he hears the quiet sound of steps approaching him again. Hannibal appears in his line of sight with fresh linens, towels, toiletries and Will notices with shock, a fresh change of clothes.

He does not look at Will’s face.

“These are for you. The fresh linens are for the possibility you don’t like the ones already in your room, whichever of the five you choose to accommodate yourself in. The rest are for a bath, or shower; again, whichever you prefer. Freshen up and get some rest, we’ll discuss our living situation after dinner.” Hannibal paused, allowing Will a moment to process all the information. “Ah, you needn’t worry about the clothes, they’re tailored. To you.”

Will opens his mouth still not quite sure of what to say, but before he manages to utter a syllable Hannibal continues: “I’m sure you’re far clever to deny yourself basic human hygiene over a pitiful sense of pride.” Will goes to move his head, trying to avert piercing almond eyes staring right at his soul (through his eyes and his eyes only, he notices) but finds his head held in place by a strong hand firm on his chin. “I won’t hold you captive, nor deny you any of the comforts I shallI indulge myself from now on, I never have before and I shan’t begin now.” A pause, to let the information sink in with all of its weight. “You can sulk all you want for as long as you want but do not do yourself the disservice of thinking you won’t have to talk about it all eventually.”

Hannibal lets go of his chin and goes for his bag. “The house is as much mine as it is yours.” He says, before disappearing again into the house. 

The words linger in his mind, the underlying meaning not lost to him.

Reassurance.

Once he finds enough strength to stand up and remain on his feet without feeling like his legs were made of pudding, Will goes to the same path he saw Hannibal take earlier. He finds the house impossibly larger than he’d thought and something hot and heavy coils in his stomach when Hannibal’s words echo in his mind.

After small exploration, Will settles on the farthest bedroom he can find, delight first crossing his features when he hears the lock click shut on the door, then when he opens the curtains and is greeted by a striking view of the lake.

He dutifully strips, preferring the quickness of the shower over the languidness of a bath. Once sat on the bed, he rolls his eyes at Hannibal handing him fresh linens earlier when the ones touching his hand now are far more comfortable than he’d ever seen before. Will lies down and falls asleep with a faint melody of piano in the background, and he does not dream of the Dragon.

He dreams of Molly.

Later, much later, Will wakes up feeling reasonably rested given the circumstances. He’d forgotten to bring a clock with him to the room and his back was probably still in the trunk of the car, so the only thing he knows with certainty is that night had already fallen.

There isn’t the faint sound of piano in the background he’d fallen asleep to.

He'd fallen asleep in the clothes Hannibal handed him, imagines they're probably wrinkled from his slumber and Will finds himself stopping one step before reaching the full-body length mirror in the room. A shiver runs through his entire body and he settles for quickly fixing himself up without the help from the reflection.

Will doesn't linger on the reason he does not look in the mirror.

He makes his way downstairs on uneasy feet and seeking hands, the place dark and still unfamiliar. Will looks out of the window in the dining room with curtains still pulled back and wonders how bright it will be when they have a full moon shining through the glass with the curtains exactly as they are now.

On the top of the table Will finds a glass server with some kind of broth Will can’t be bothered to discern what’s made of along with a note and his bag.

And the key for the car. 

He tosses the note to the side without reading it, fists his glasses out of his, wincing at the contact of plastic with the tender skin of his face.

He sighs - deep and slow - before temptatively putting a hand to his face, right where he can still feel the ghost tightness of where his stitches used to be. Will tries not to shiver when he feels the hollow space in his cheekbone, made more prominent due to the partial loss of tissue; right above the scarring beneath his eye bag with a deep fissure where the knife made contact, giving his eye a droopy appearance and his lip a slight unnatural curve. The swelling still hasn’t gone entirely, and part of him thinks it never will.

A constant, inescapable reminder of his transformation; of everything he lost and left behind.

Will doesn’t know why Hannibal hasn't commented on his newly found avoidance of reflections and the entire symbolism present in it, nor why Hannibal hasn’t said anything at all about the scar, other than to report (lie about) how well his skin was recovering.

The worst of it all?

It still fucking hurts.

Will never cared much about appearances and vanity and it irks his skin that even after all he still wants to put the effort in appeasing Hannibal's tastes.

The hot broth cooling in the server appeals to satiate an entire different hunger in him now. He wonders if Hannibal would still want him close after having third degree burn scarring all over his face.

A thought for later, when his stomach stops grumbling.

Will doesn’t touch the key.

  
  
  


The house indeed was spacious, Will finds after some exploring. He manages to explore almost the entire house in quick, furtive movements when he hears the car drive out of the property. Will doesn’t have the slightest idea of how long Hannibal plans to stay away but he’s grateful for the space he’s being given, but also irritated.

Hannibal hasn’t sought him out once after their first day. He still cooks and cleans for the both of them, leaves meals with notes on his doorstep or at the dining table, fresh changes of clothes and occasionally some snacks as well.

If Hannibal isn’t to be found anywhere, Will ventures to the bar right after he finds what’s been left for him, head spinning with a kind of anger he can’t quite explain that demands to be quashed with alcohol.

This is how he finds himself on his way downstairs desperate for a glass of bourbon, when he sees the empty bottle. Will groans loudly, barely stopping the impulse to rub his hands on his face. He decides to go after some wine and he hopes he can finish one of the most expensive bottles in their cellar before Hannibal comes back just to spite him.

He doesn’t feel sober enough to drive but drunk enough to make his limbs feel a bit uncoordinated, in the thin gap in intoxication he's spent the best part of his days ever since arriving here.

In a burst of drunken confidence, Will goes to explore the beautiful deck, bringing his bottle (he doesn't bother with glasses anymore) with him. He sees the small shed and his hands tremble in anticipation of what he could find in the secluded, discreet space given Hannibal’s history.

Will doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Of course Hannibal bought him  _ fucking _ fishing supplies. Of course Hannibal had also three rifles and a variety of hunting knives.They were meant to come together, all three of them.

Will remembers that every single piece of clothing he’s worn since arriving here was tailored. He remembers that Hannibal hasn’t served him any kinds of meat, nor punished him in any way for when he leaves a meal untouched; remembers that he was free to come and go as he please, and that the only person restricting his movements and entertainment was  _ himself _ .

He doesn’t think twice about getting the supplies -  _ his _ supplies that Hannibal bought for  _ him _ \- to venture further down the deck where he could fish. Hannibal did say the house was his as much as it was Hannibal's.

For the first time in a long while, Will feels himself drift to a part of his mind where things were hazy and foggy, almost like a fever dream; allowing himself to feel a sense of clarity long forgotten to him.

It dawns on him then that Hannibal was going to demand nothing in return for this new life, letting him choose to go and adjust at his own pace, should he want to. In turn, Will wonders what Hannibal’s reaction would be if he chose to reject him this one last time, and if he would have the courage to do so.

He ignores the shiver that runs through his entire body, and the dread slowly creeping up his back.

  
  
  


Hannibal is a predator.

A sly, cunning, remarkably  _ patient _ predator.

He’s used to planning, to waiting and save one occasion or another, doesn’t mind when someone who was already on the menu escapes from his table; he certainly doesn’t dwell on the past, well, not when his past crosses an entire ocean to offer him forgiveness and most certainly when his past fully crosses the threshold that leads right into his world. He definitely dwells on his past when it decides to stay and become his present.

Ever since arriving at his new home - their new home - a couple of days ago, Hannibal fills his days indulging in the arts, cooking and the occasional internet check-up to admire the crime scene pictures of the Dragon’s defeat, of his and Will’s first hunt together. He expected some reluctance, expected that Will would need some time to adjust to their reality in the Andes and he was more than happy to oblige in whatever WIll needed of him, now that he was finally here, with him.

He isn’t expecting to be so amused by Will’s sulking. Hannibal knows the underlying causes for the behavior, but he also knows better than to try the confrontational approach: Will is a fisherman after all. He is pleased to see Will out of his room for the first time in days exploring their home and whereabouts after so much sneaking and avoiding him; he’s pleased that he finds the shed and its contents and isn’t afraid to test the existence and limits of boundaries.

What catches Hannibal by surprise is seeing Will prepare his own meal, after accepting his trays for so long, and deciding to have it with him at the table after so much effort put into not crossing paths.

Remarkable boy.

He watches Will sit down with his plate with an attention only spared for his victims and catches himself giving a small smile into his fork when he sees the effort Will puts into avoiding his gaze altogether. The tension and nervousness make themselves visible in the way Will’s back muscles are pulled taut and in the twitch of his scarred eye. 

Will looks so delightfully tired.

Hannibal doesn’t remember ever setting his eyes into a creature more beautiful than the one sitting across him. Exquisite and stunning, scarred and deformed by him and for him. He hasn’t had the right opportunity to say that out loud.

They eat without exchanging words once and Will never raises his eyes from his plate. It’s when Hannibal quietly moves to rise from his seat that Will feels the want gnawing at his insides flood over the dam.

"This is what you brought me for?" Will says, low and small. "A broken toy you don't want anymore that you kept out of  _ pity _ ? A toy you won’t even look at its face?”

What makes Hannibal still is the venom now present in his words.

“I believe I once said to you that my compassion for you was inconvenient. It was back then, not anymore.”

Hannibal can smell the frustration oozing from the man in front of him.

“And I believe I replied that being partial to beef makes inconvenient being compassionate to cows. Am I now not even worthy of being your beef?”

“Did you come all this way with me to be simply my beef?” Hannibal replies, crueler than he needs to be, for now at least.

“Why won’t you look at me?! Why go through all the trouble to patch me up and bring me here, provide me with all of this when you can’t even bring yourself to look at me?!”

There it is.

Hannibal isn’t a good man. He’s a neutral agent of chaos at best, pulling at the strings for nothing more than his own amusement, until the magnificent, glorious mess of a man known as Will Graham came into his life. Life stopped being monotonous, the teacup rebuilding itself collapse after collapse, pull after pull, until Hannibal found he’d never imagined before the possibility of his own existence with the teacup fully restored.

But then again, he isn’t a good man, and even at his best there’s still the beast peeking through his human suit, and Hannibal could never entirely predict Will, and the outcome of being changed by the Dragon.

Hannibal knew Will was changed by him as much he changed Hannibal, and knew that all Will needed was the tiniest of incentives to come to him out of his own accord; Will couldn’t, no, wouldn’t ever acquiesce his own needs without a helping hand. 

Things had to come to this very moment. Wind him up, and watch him go.

After a moment of consideration Hannibal removes his suit jacket - a piece of his armor - and takes small steps to where Will trembles in his seat to gently grab his face by the sides to avoid touching the injury still healing. When he sees the contact isn’t rejected, Hannibal lifts his face and makes Will look back at him.

The expression in Hannibal’s eyes is nothing short of total devotion.

Adoration.

“Because you needed the space,” Hannibal says low and gentle. 

“Because you needed time to fully comprehend that even though your place with me was carved into your skin, time and time again, I wouldn’t make you stay if you truly didn’t wish to,” A pause, to let his words sink. When Will doesn’t respond in favor to just keep looking back, Hannibal continues:

“To understand I will never demand nothing in return for what I provide, nor ask for anything you are unwilling to give.”

That’s the trouble with eyes, Will remembers. Not seeing enough, or seeing too much. The truth in Hannibal’s words stabs his skin with the same searing pain Francis’s knife had stabbed his face.

Will feels like he’s staring at the sun.

Soon all of it becomes too much to handle and he tries to physically look away, but unlike when they first arrived, Hannibal’s hands are gentle in their grasp to keep him still, fingers caressing the skin they touch.

Will groans when Hannibal doesn’t let go.

“Come find me when you’re ready. If you’re ready.” Hannibal says, barely audible. “You know where I am.”

The hands on his face stay only a moment longer before releasing him. 

Must be the wine, Will thinks.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Damocle’s sword doesn’t appear to hang over them anymore.

The unnerving tension that suffocated the house seems to have dissipated for the moment, slightly, at least. Will comes to have meals with Hannibal throughout the day, finds himself a new variety of activities to occupy his time, now that he mere idea of having to be in the same room as Hannibal isn’t completely unfathomable anymore. 

Proper conversation still hasn’t taken place since Hannibal all but declared his undying love for the other man, but whenever Hannibal blatantly stares at Will with a fondness he hasn’t noticed there before he has his gaze returned; anxious, yes, but not terse or curt. 

_ Come find me when you’re ready _ , Will remembers.

On a particularly warm day, he goes to the shed and knows he’s being watched by the insufferably patient figure sitting on the deck a few feet from him, and in return Will occasionally returns a glance or two in his direction, a furtive smile making its way to his face one time.

Will picks up his fishing supplies and makes his way to deck, daring to flash one last shy smile to the other man and in return has the same fond expression Hannibal has kept glued to his face. What he doesn’t see is the white fist squeezing far tighter than necessary on the wooden armchair Hannibal sits on.

Focus seems to be the last thing Hannibal's mind is capable of. 

Hannibal never considered himself fussy but when his mind outright refuses to think about anything else other than the way Will's scar makes him smile wilder easier than before and the only thing that takes his mind out of it is cleaning his entire kitchen twice, he considers the possibility that maybe his patience wasn't as resilient as once thought and that, yes, maybe he is fussy indeed.

But he made a promise to himself and he always keeps his promises.

Will brings Hannibal fish in the evening.

When he walks back to the house his hand stays a moment too long on the knob and all the courage it took an entire day to muster seems to leave him one breath at a time.

Somehow he still makes his way inside as quietly as he can.

He should go back to the shed and store his fish there, or even better, he shouldn't have even bothered because bringing him trout wasn't going to make everything alright, the gesture wasn't going to somehow turn him back to the feral mess of a creature that Hannibal was infatuated with.

It gnaws at his insides, the idea that there’s a strong change Hannibal is faking all of that unadulterated want for him now that he’s marred and spoiled from everything he’s survived. He does have the permanent reminders scarred into his skin, and especially the one he can’t hide under layers of clothing.

No, it was all com-

Lost inside in the whirlwind of his mind, Will doesn't see Hannibal standing at the entrance for the living room, looking right at him.

It lasts only a fraction of a second but Will sees it that expression again. It's the same intensity, the same controlled hunger Hannibal looked at him the first time he went to the hospital after the arrest.

With a sharp inhale, Will raises his hand and takes a step towards Hannibal, offering to the other man his cooler.

“We both know they will be far better off in your hands,” Will makes himself say, and hopes Hannibal doesn’t notice the quickening of his heartbeat. “And I never got around to properly thank you for the fishing- I thought I should provide as well.”

It takes Hannibal every single cell in his being to not pounce on the other man right there and then.

Hannibal doesn’t immediately unfold his hands from behind his back where his nails are starting to cause damage to skin, but in the moment Will begins to retreat his arm back to his side in rejection hid hand jumps to clasp around the elevated limb.

“A very thoughtful gesture,” Hannibal gives, fingers gentle on Will’s skin despite the jerkiness of the motion to grab his wrist. “And much appreciated as well.”

Hannibal pauses, not breaking eye contact, and uses his free hand to retrieve the cooler from Will with a hand still firmly grasping a wrist.

Will feels a finger caressing his wrist in the very same way as it had his face.

“Your company will be equally - if not more - appreciated, if you care to sous-chef. Certainly your abilities to prepare the fish for cooking surpass mine.” Hannibal says, and at that he releases Will.

He’s only allowed to scale and butterfly the fish before Hannibal approaches him from the behind, a hand to the small of his back and another going for the fingers holding the knife.

“Surely a day well spent like this must have made you tired,” he says with a smile. “And as much as I am enjoying your company, it would please me tremendously if you had some rest before dinner,” Hannibal continues. When Hannibal sees tension in Will he moves both hands to cradle his face, intent on looking straight into his eyes. “Would you do that for me?”

Will doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore, and even if he had, he doesn’t think it would be strong enough to deny anything in that moment to that affable pair of almond eyes. He sees a sparkle in them, one he recognizes from earlier, but still can’t help a flash of rejection reflect in his own.

Hannibal sees it, smells it, and tightens his grip on Will’s face and decides he’s had enough. “I was rather hoping we could have this conversation after dinner but that just won’t do.”

Will flinches when he feels Hannibal pulling his face into his own and resists the motion at first, but when Hannibal pulls harder he melts into the grip and flinches when eager lips touch his own.

Chaste and exploring at first, Hannibal doesn’t give Will much time to decide and brushes a fingertip on the tender tissue below his eye, earning him a pained gasp. He pushes his tongue past the rings of teeth - hungry, desperate - and devours the moan it elicits. One hand slides from Will’s face and goes to the small of his back, and this time there’s no resistance when Hannibal pulls Will’s body close against his own.

Will is the one to try to break the kiss, hands briefly flapping in the air before pushing against Hannibal’s broad chest, but Hannibal refuses to have any of that and persists on the kiss with more strength, and to make his point crystal clear he pushes a thigh between the other’s legs. He’s rewarded with a choked moan spilling into his mouth and can’t fight the impulse to shove Will against the nearest wall.

He breaks the kiss for a gasp of air and the image of a gasping and out breath Will makes the warmth coiling in his abdomen burn his insides. Hannibal takes in the flush reddening in Will’s cheeks and the dazed look in his eyes before leaning back against him, pushing him further against the wall. His hand snakes beneath the hem of Will’s shirt, seeking for the scar tissue on his belly. When he finds it, Will closes his eyes, sobs into his lips and tries to push his head up and away to create distance.

Hannibal lets him, only to latch now at the throat bared to him. His fingers skim over the overgrown tissue and press down hard, almost squeezing the skin between his fingertips; his thigh still pressing against Will’s groin. Will sobs into the air now and moves an arm to try to dislodge the arm caging him in and the hand up his shirt, his hand pushing against Hannibal’s forearm trying to get away from the touch but finding no give.

“Don’t you dare for one moment more think,” Hannibal growls into Will’s neck, voice coarse and ragged. Will in turn sobs harder, feeling overwhelmed by the attention. “That my desire for you has waned because of these, Will.” He lets his teeth scrape the neck he’s assaulting, threatening to break skin when he doesn’t feel the struggling cease. “I’ve never wanted you more than I do now. Simply breath-taking, covered with the trophies of your victories on your skin.” 

A small scream makes its way past Will’s lips and Hannibal feels the rumble of it where his lips still touch his neck, unwanted tears spilling from his eyes.

“I know you struggle to communicate so I thought the best course of action would be letting you come to me in your own time,” Hannibal puts more pressure on the fingers touching the scar on Will’s belly at the same time he begins to move the thigh touching his crotch. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

Will shrieks.

Hannibal feels Will harden against him and doesn’t stop his ministrations on the trembling body pressed taut against his own. The hand on Will’s belly slides upwards to find his nipple and teasingly presses the bud between two fingers, alternating between slides downwards to the scar and back up to his chest. Hannibal’s other hand moves to grab soft curls at the base of Will’s neck to restrict movement and pull his head backwards, baring even more throat for assault. He presses kisses and light bites all over the expansion of skin and doesn’t relent his touch on the other hand; his tight still grinding and pressing down against Will’s erection.

“If rejection is what you fear, allow me, my love, to allay your fears.”

Hannibal keeps Will pinned to the wall with his tight and brings down both hands to undo the clasp of Will’s belt and the buttons of his pants. One hand pushes fabric away to rub the hot flesh it finds, the other settling for a grip on Will’s chin. Will’s hands move down to join Hannibal’s inside his briefs, fingers clasping around the wrist. Hannibal leans in for another kiss at the same time his fingers wrap around Will’s erection, drinking the half scream half whimper he forces out of shaking lips and pushes his tongue inside again.

Hannibal thumbs at the wet head to spread the fluids already leaking, fingers trailing down the shaft and back up again to the head, tugging and squeezing with firm but experimental touches. Will is falling apart in front of him in a shivering mess of whimpers and moans and Hannibal relishes the feeling of feeling the noises against his own lips, barely suppressing a shiver himself. He speeds up his movements, increasing pressure and Will tightens his hold on his wrist, moaning louder into Hannibal’s mouth.

Will comes with a startled cry into Hannibal’s hand and mouth, face wet and burning with tears.

He’s still a panting, shivering mess when Hannibal moves his hand from his underwear to his face to lick the come in his fingers and palm clean and barely registers being pulled away from the kitchen to the stairs, body heavy with the daze from the orgasm.

Hannibal leads them to his bedroom, sits Will on the bed and kneels to remove his shoes and socks. When he comes up, he’s met with a pair of piercing bright blue eyes and clenched fists on the sheets.

“Do you want to talk now, or do you still require something more drastic?”

**Author's Note:**

> I did it! I kinda worte porn, yay! I think. Also, I swear Will was okay with the handjob, poor thing was just overwhelmed with feelings.
> 
> This is their home in Argentina.  
> The travel time from Buenos Aires to Bariloche is accurate according to Google, and the lake actually exists!


End file.
